


Regression Toward the Mean

by Lady_of_Winterfell



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Complicated Relationships, Kinda, M/M, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build, The Wolf Among Us AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 09:24:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8366995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_of_Winterfell/pseuds/Lady_of_Winterfell
Summary: “Any idea why someone would stick your ex’s severed head on your doorstep?” Stiles asked with only the smallest hint of sarcasm.
“She's hardly an ex,” Derek corrected, “but no.”
Or the one where Beacon Hills hasn't had a supernatural threat appear in four years and one just happens to make itself known right outside of Derek's apartment.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so I've been playing the game "The Wolf Among Us" and I couldn't resist kind of making a fic from it. Sort of. It's after midnight here, we'll see how this goes. I'll edit later.
> 
> Made a new tumblr in case any of you like, wanna message or something. [sandman-of-the-endless](http://sandman-of-the-endless.tumblr.com)

Beacon Hills had been silent for a while. Too silent, even, by its supernatural standards. No murders, no opposing threat, no deadly experiments on teenagers. Everything went by smoothly, peacefully even, as if their town wasn’t a literal beacon for danger. It was normal for a while, giving the kids a cool down time before and after their graduation. The time period for that turning out to be four years, which gave Scott’s pack enough time to experience life as a young adult should: without worry. Though they weren’t carefree enough to not be on guard.

Especially Scott. 

Scott was anxious the entire time, never seeming to be able to relax on the slow, quiet days they were granted. When asked why, he always explained a phrase Deaton had told him once.

“Regression to the mean!” He'd always start, and by that point _everyone_ knew what it meant. But no one could deny that his logic was sound. Since their situation with the Dread Doctors had been handled, nothing exceptional had had happened since. Everything seemed still, at a stalemate, stuck in the middle between “good” and “bad.” “The scales gonna tip at some point!” 

But years went by without the scale tipping, just slow, mundane days with regular occurrences of good or bad situations slipping in. But never any serious trouble, no recurring danger. Just… life. It wasn't until Derek was getting comfortable with the idea of the new averageness of Beacon Hills did he get a call from Lydia.

The first problem with this was that Lydia was calling him. Lydia _never_ called him. They weren’t the closest of friends and certainly didn’t have much in common, so this situation didn’t make any sense. The second issue was that it was some time after midnight on a _Tuesday_ , no less. A number of bells went off in head. He answered.

“Derek!” She cried on the other end, sounding relieved. “Derek, he's… god, get out here to the forest preserve. Peter’s…” her voice faltered, beginning to drop into a whisper but then stopping completely.

“Lydia? What about Peter? What are you doing in the woods?” Derek asked when Lydia failed to speak again. A sharp intake of breath could be heard from the other end.

“I… I feel like something's going to happen. Like… someone’s going to die. I haven't felt this way in a long time, s-so I followed the noise and it led me to the woods and I _saw_ Peter. That's all. I don't know where he is, it was only for a second, but I'm worried.” Derek tried not to sigh or grunt or make any sound of annoyance at the information because in the end, this was serious. One of the few banshee in town having a feeling of death after years of being inactive? That was a big deal. The fact that at the center of this disturbance apparently was his uncle Peter? Yeah, slightly less surprising. Predictable, even, but Derek couldn't focus on that now. 

“Lydia, what are you hearing exactly?” That was an important question. Whatever she was hearing gave him a better idea of what exactly this was. At least the type of death to expect—to try to prevent.

“I… it's kind of hard to explain. It's like a dripping. A constant dripping, but not like water. Something heavy…” 

“Like blood?” Derek finished.

“Yes,” she mumbled. The description was vague, but Derek couldn't blame her for not knowing. They were all a bit out of practice. “Please, just get here.”

 

It didn't take long to sniff out Lydia, the smell of her perfume soaked clothes all too familiar as he followed the scent deep into the forest. There she was, standing in the middle of a clearing wearing lavender pajama bottoms and a matching tank top. Her hair was slightly unkempt and she wasn’t wearing any makeup or shoes, but she still somehow managed to look as radiant as always. Even if she had muddy feet. 

“Lydia?” Derek called to get her attention. She was staring blankly at the trees to her right, eyes empty like in a trance, but face focused. She was listening to something. “ _Lydia_ ,” he called again, this time getting her to look at him. She ran to meet him.

“There's something happening,” she told him quickly, biting her lip nervously afterwards. 

“What is?” Derek asked, trying to figure out what exactly was going on and hoping Lydia had a better idea now than half an hour ago.

“I don't know,” she answered solemnly. “But, there's just… Derek, it's gotten louder and I _don't know_ what it is! There's something wrong!” Her voice sounded strained, as if even talking about the noise was hard for her to do. Derek decided not to press further. 

“Okay. I'll look around,” he assured her. “Which way did Peter go?” She pointed toward the trees in the direction she was staring before. He nodded. “Stay here,” he said, “and if you need me—”

“I'll scream,” she finished. He nodded again, then made his way through the trees. He searched through the woods, by the cliff, near the lake, practically everywhere, but nothing. Not even a scent of Peter was around, and he noticed that when he first found Lydia. He would've had no problem picking up his uncle's scent, but throughout his entire search was nothing. Not even a fading one.

When he got back to Lydia, she was sitting on the ground, hands tangled in her hair and shaking. It was cold out tonight, he realized, and she clearly didn’t think ahead to dress for the weather. He took off his leather jacket and wrapped it around her. Startled, she jumped up to greet him. 

“Did you find anything?” She asked expectantly. 

“No,” Derek told her, then thought over how to say what he wanted to next. Eventually, he decided to just say it outright. “Are you sure you saw him?”

She blinked, then took a step back to stare at him, hazel eyes wide and bright under the full moon. “Of _course_ I did!” She cried. “What are you trying to say?”

“Nothing. Just that we’ve been through something this before…” Derek couldn’t help but pick up on the similarities between this situation and the one that happened in her sophomore year. Wandering around barefoot in the woods and claiming to see what was then a dead Peter? But of course it wasn’t exactly like when she was sixteen. She was clothed this time.

Lydia scoffed at the statement. “It's not like that!” She argued. “That was years ago, remember? When I was _sixteen_ and he _bit_ me! Those hallucinations were circumstantial at best. It's not like—like I'm going around seeing Peter everywhere!”

“Anymore,” Derek added without thinking. She frowned and stood stiffly. 

“Fine,” she said, voice tight. “But I'm not making this up. I-I can hear this—whatever this is—and—”

“I'm not saying you're making anything up. Just that I couldn't find anything and it's late. You clearly haven't slept and… we can figure this out in the morning.”

“It _is_ morning!”

“ _Daylight_ morning,” he clarified. “Go home, Lydia.” She was silent, biting her lip, and her gaze turned back toward the trees. “ _Lydia_.”

“Okay…” she agreed. “I… walked here,” she told Derek, looking down at her dirt covered feet. He nodded. 

“I'll give you a ride.”

 

In the car Lydia was silent, staring out the window vacantly with Derek’s jacket gripped tightly around her. Derek was fine with it, the two had never had much to talk about anyway and the silence wasn't unpleasant. Yet… he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

“Something's happening,” Lydia said for the second time that night. “Scott was right.”  
Derek chose to stay quiet.

 

On the way to Derek’s own apartment, he couldn't ease his nerves. Even if he couldn't find anything in the woods, Lydia wasn't crazy. She's feeling something, hearing something she can't place, and it's unnerving. Something wasn't right. He decided to go back to the woods. 

Going over all the areas he’d searched previous, he still found nothing, which was frustrating. Even if Peter wasn't around, there was something about the woods that made Lydia anxious. He was sure there was _something_ yet to be discovered. He let out a heavy sigh, deciding to follow the advice he gave Lydia and deal with this in the morning, but then he heard something. A brief rustling, a snapping of a twig, someone else was there too. He recognized the scent.

“Allison?” He called, and the former hunter stepped out from the shadows, though she didn't look like much of a _former_ hunter at the moment. Dressed in all black with her bow and arrows slung over her shoulder, she looked like that seventeen-year-old girl who was ready to kill him back then. Except now her face was filled with more worry than revenge. “What are you doing here?” He asked.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she retorted.

“Yeah, but I'm not the one creeping through the woods _armed_. What's going on?” Allison didn't answer. “Did Lydia call you?” He asked instead. Allison looked confused. 

“No, I haven't talked to her all day… why?”

“She called me a few hours ago. She's hearing something, like blood falling, maybe. It led her to the woods, she asked me to look around,” he answered honestly.

“Hmm…” 

“So, are you gonna answer me?” Derek asked expectantly. She took out her phone and checked the time. 

“It's late, Derek,”

“I know. That's why I'm curious,” he admitted. She sighed.

“Look, just go home and I'll tell you about it later.” 

“Allison,”

“But don't tell Scott,” his brows knitted together, looking as confused as Allison had a moment ago. 

“ _Why_?” If whatever she was doing involved lying to Scott, it couldn't be anything good.

“I'll tell you _later_. Just promise me, okay?”

“I don't know.”

“Derek, don't make this harder than it has to be. Do this one thing for me and we can all talk about this tomorrow,” Allison’s voice was stern, but Derek could hear the plead behind it. She siunded desperate.

“Fine, I won't tell,” Derek finally agreed.

“Thanks. Now go home. Goodnight.” With that she ran, disappearing into the shadows directly opposite the wolf. Derek considered following her, but Allison was a good shot and he’d been on the other end of those arrows before. He decided it better to go home than to risk pulling an arrow out of him.

 

Finally at his apartment, Derek was greeted to a surprise: a broken lock and the door slightly ajar. He opened it and proceeded inside with caution, then realized it was pointless when he saw his second surprise: Isaac Lahey sleeping on his sofa. What was going on tonight? He shook his former beta’s shoulder, promptly waking him up. 

“Oh. Hey, Derek,” Isaac greeted plainly, a tired yawn following behind the sentence. Derek didn't say anything, opting for watching the wolf as he rolled off the couch and onto the floor.

“You could’ve come in through the window instead of breaking my door, you know?” Derek eventually said when the only thing Isaac did was stare at him with tired eyes.

“Uhhh, yeah. Sorry,” he apologized, yawning again. Derek sat down on the sofa and stared at the younger wolf. He hadn't seen Isaac in years, not since they'd gotten rid of the nogitsune inside of Stiles. He'd left for a few years, coming back only a few weeks prior to this night. Derek would have gone to see his former beta, but he honestly didn't see the point in doing so.

“What are you doing here?” Derek finally asked.

“Here as in _here_ or in Beacon Hills?” 

“ _Here_ , in my apartment.”

“Oh. I kinda… had a weird night,” Isaac admitted, explaining nothing at all. Derek didn’t call him out on the fact, though. He was having a weird night too.

“What happened?” Derek found himself asking as he stood up to go to the kitchen. Isaac followed.

“I… it's weird, I can't really remember.” Alarms went off in Derek's head because _how the hell could he not remember_? Before he could voice his question to Isaac, though, he said, “Can I stay here for a while?” Derek blinked, taken aback by the unexpected question.

“I thought you had a place to stay already,” Derek said, doubting Isaac would opt for being homeless upon his return.

“Yeah, I've been staying with Braeden. But she's being all… _Braeden_ , so she’s been coming and going.”

“When did Braeden get into town?” Derek was curious now because whenever Braeden was around it never meant anything good. He hadn't seen her since Kate went on the run and Scott said the last time she was around she was looking for the Desert Wolf. So it's been a while, _four years_. Derek was starting to see a pattern.

“Oh… when I did. Together, I mean… kinda. We’re sort of a thing. Kinda—hey, this isn't gonna be weird, is it?” Isaac asked nervously. Derek rolled his eyes. Whatever he and Braeden had ended _years_ ago. He didn't have the instinct to be jealous.

“Of course not,” he said, “but why not just stay with Scott? That's your alpha.” Isaac shrugged.

“Yeah, but now that him and Allison are married and everything… it'll be awkward.”

“Do you still have a thing for her?”

“No! Well, it’s just…” he thought over his next words carefully, then shrugged again. “I don't like hiding things from Scott.” Derek didn't want to get any deeper into this topic. 

“Fine, whatever. Go back to sleep, it's late,” he told the younger wolf, heading in the direction of his bedroom. 

“Hey, wait! Where were _you_? I thought you'd have been here, but you weren't so I had to break in.” Ignoring the lack of logic behind his reasoning for breaking in, Derek just wanted to get some sleep. He walked into his bedroom and closed the door.

“Go to sleep,” he said aloud as he changed into a sweater and pajama bottoms, knowing that Isaac would hear. Within a few moments, Isaac could be heard settling back on the couch and Derek then climbed into bed and closed his eyes, finally determined to get some rest.

 

Knock, knock, knock. Persistent, loud knocks littered Derek's front door before he heard it creak open. He opened his eyes and let out a tired groan, not even bothering to check the time and instead looking out of his window instead. It was dark and rain was falling heavily. Still not daylight. With another sigh, he got up out of his bed, past Isaac (who somehow managed to not wake up) to the ajar front door. On the other side of it was a he was a drenched Stiles, wearing only a black tank top and shaking from the rain. 

“Stiles?” Derek was surprised to see him, brows knitting together as he stared at the younger man before him. 

“I didn’t wanna just walk in, but Derek, you gotta see this,” he grabbed Derek by the wrist and dragged him down the hall, barely giving the wolf enough time to shut the door behind him. Walking quickly, Stiles said nothing as he led Derek through the building. 

“Stiles,” Derek said, trying to get his attention, but nothing. He tried again. “ _Stiles_ —”

“What?!” Stiles snapped, then quickly backtracked. They stopped walking. “I mean, hey. Yeah, sorry. Dude, something happened. Downstairs there's—” an apartment door opened, someone they didn't know stepped out. An awkward stare between the three of them, then Stiles took Derek’s hand and began walking towards the elevator. “Wait till we get outside,”

The few short minutes it took for them to get outside had Derek’s head swimming with questions. Why was Stiles here? What was outside? Why couldn't Stiles talk about it? What was going _on_ tonight? But anytime he attempted to ask, Stiles shut him down. 

“Dude, just wait,” Stiles said when the finally stepped outside. The rain was falling hard, drenching the two of them within a second. “It's over here,” Stiles said, beckoning him to follow him toward the gate of the building. On one of the spikes of the fence was a flannel, red and checkered that he knew belonged to Stiles, covering the section in its entirety. Beneath it was something Derek couldn't make out, oddly shaped and making the shirt pop up in sections that it shouldn't. There was something falling from it, too, that he could only barely make out from the rain. Red, thick, dripping steadily… blood. He was surprised he couldn't catch the scent earlier, then realized that the rain was diluting it. This wasn't good.

Stiles gave him a nervous look, then went over to the gate to grab his shirt from upon the spike. Beneath it revealed the thing Derek expected the least: the severed head of Braeden impaled from the bottom of (what was left of) her neck and out the top of her head.

“Oh shit,” Derek mumbled when Stiles turned to look at him again.

“Yeah, I know. I didn't even know she was back in town! But, shit, dude, what did she _do_? Like, I know she's a hired gun, but who could she have pissed off to pull this Game of Thrones shit?” Derek was silent, stunned and speechless from the sight. Stiles hit him on the arm. “Dude, now’s not the time for the silent brooding act, this is serious!” 

“I know, it's just…” he paused, “there hasn't been a murder here in a long time.” Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Obviously, Derek! Which is why this is serious and we need to _do_ something.” He let out a sigh and crossed his arms. He was still shaking and red in the face, obviously cold but having the decency not to complain about it. Derek took off his sweater and handed it to Stiles to cover himself. It was just as wet as Stiles was, but at least he’d have something to cover his arms. With a bit of hesitation and a swift once over of a shirtless Derek, he took it and threw it over himself. “Thanks… your clothes are always grossly warm.” Stiles said awkwardly. Derek wasn't sure whether that was supposed to be a compliment or not, but was glad that Stiles kept talking so he wouldn't have to respond. “Any idea why someone would stick your ex’s severed head on your doorstep?”

“She's hardly an ex,” Derek corrected, “but no.” Then he thought about the situation a bit more. “But… Isaac’s upstairs. He said he was staying with her.” The idea that this had something to do with Isaac rather than him wasn’t that far of a stretch. They’d both had a strange night, but Isaac apparently couldn’t remember his. _What if he… no, nevermind_ , Derek thought. Stiles raised his eyebrows.

“Isaac’s up there? In your apartment? Right _now_?” It was Derek’s turn to roll his eyes. 

“Yeah, that's what I said, Stiles.”

“At _this_ hour?”

“ _Yes_ ,”

“So, uh… what were you two doing in there? At this hour, in your apartment?”

“You can't be serious,” Derek began, “Braeden’s here _dead_ and you're suggesting—”

“I'm not suggesting anything!” Stiles argued, getting back to the matter at hand. “I've just seen a lot of dead bodies in my lifetime, excuse me for being a little desensitized! But… yeah, we need to do something. What do you think this means?”

Derek had no idea. “I don't know… but something's happening. Lydia called me a little after midnight—”

“You invite her to your place too?” Derek ignored Stiles’ interjection.

“And she said she was hearing something. Something like, like dripping…” he looked back at Braeden’s severed head, dripping down a heavy stream of blood. “Like blood dripping.” He sighed. “She said something was going to happen tonight, said she saw Peter, asked me to look around in the woods… I didn't find anything, though.” Stiles didn't say anything for a while, then went to throw his flannel back over Braeden’s head and, with some difficulty, pull her head off of the gate.

“Ew, ew, ew,” he kept repeating as he felt the blood seep through his shirt and onto his hands. “We need to move her… I'll take her to Deaton. Or to Scott, we need to tell Scott. He’s always so…” he paused, thinking it over. “Or maybe not. Maybe I should wait? You know, sometimes he's _too_ anxious about this stuff. I mean… I should give him time, right?” 

“Do what you need to do, Stiles,” Derek told him with no particular opinion. Stiles frowned.

“You don't care?”

“I just wanted to get some sleep…”

“Of course. Because you only like Beacon Hills when nothing’s happening, right?”

“ _Stiles_ ,” 

“It's whatever. But we have to tell someone. Jordan, or my dad. Maybe Allison if we can get a hold of her. Scott says she's kind of ‘busy’ lately, whatever that means. He can hardly get a hold of her sometimes.”

“Okay,” Derek said, thinking it wise to not tell Stiles he’d seen her earlier in the night.

“But if we do, we can take a look in the bestiary. You know, maybe this is another type of ritual thing from some obscure creature,” Stiles suggested.

“Right,” Derek agreed. 

“So that's it?” Stiles asked, “No big plan of action to set in motion? No big statement of foreboding to fill my nightmares tonight?”

“No. Something's happening, I told you, and this has been a weird night. That's it, what more can I say?” Derek really didn't know what Stiles was aiming for.

“Right. Nothing, I guess…” He fidgeted with the decapitated head in his hands, lightly moving it back and forth and smearing blood even deeper into his shirt.

“Stiles, what were you doing here anyway?” Stiles blinked.

“What?”

 

“To have found this you would’ve had to have been heading here so…” Stiled bit his lip, then looked away before he began talking.

“Okay, _fine_. If you really wanna know, I was… coming to see you…” Stiles admitted, slightly embarrassed.

“Really?” Derek asked with a smug smile.

“ _Yeah_ , Derek, it's late and I wanted to fuck. Sue me, but can we not talk about this while I'm holding your ex’s severed head? I'm gonna go take what's left of her to Deaton, then go home. But… you’re welcome to swing by in an hour or two if you're still up, though.” And with a wink and a suggestive smirk, Stiles made his way back to his jeep with Braeden’s head.


End file.
